Wishing Well
by BrattyLittleAngel
Summary: Sometimes the road to happiness, is filled with heartbreak.


**Disclaimer - I don't own nada . . . blah - blah - blah**

**A/N - So this is my first Hobbit Fic, and to be honest, where I do love to write, I loath starting a story, basically because it's hard. This is a Bard/OC, girl goes back in time fic. I love time travel fics, but it seems in too many of them one of two things happen. One, the person going back in time is a total pain in the ass and I have a hard time following the story because basically I want them to shut up. Take Outlander for example, looove the story, but there are times when I hate Claire and really wish she would've been burned at the stake. My other issue is when there's instant love, I just don't buy it.**

**So basically this mess starts well before the Hobbits skipped into Lake-town. Bard is still raising his three little ones, who by the way are a few years younger, and still not overly loved by the Town Manager. I am taking the characters, the world and ditching pretty much everything else.**

**~Prologue~**

"Will you stop looking at me like that?" Sending a glare at her Dad's amused expression, Bekka Holt growled in frustration as she made her way down the cobbled street. Her father at her side, she wanted nothing more than to throw a tantrum over the latest turn of events.

"Look at you like what?" The smirk wasn't far from his face, or his tone, and Bekka wanted to strangle him for it. "You look beautiful." As if to prove her point, two local boys whistled out catcalls as they passed by.

"I look ridicules and we both know it." Crossing her arms over her chest, she frowned at the tops of her overly exposed breast and immediately dropped her arms back down to her side. "This is your fault."

The smirk only grew, as Erik Holt set his bag down and pulled out his camera. "I can't see how this could be my fault."

"So you're telling me that the model who was supposed to be in this shoot, didn't quit because of your recent late night booty calls with her?" Raising a brow in challenge, she let out a sigh when all he did was laugh. She loved her Dad dearly, but there were days when she felt as though an over grown frat boy had raised her.

"Let's just say Gretta and I had artistic differences." Looking around, in search of the best lighting, he moved a few feet.

"Artistic differences my ass." Bekka muttered as she stomped over to the old, stone well. Feeling the stares they were getting, she looked pleadingly over at him to hurry up. Pulling at the bodice of the dress, she tapped her foot impatiently.

"I see your taking pictures of Abbey's Wishing Well." Startled, Bekka spun in the direction of the voice and was shocked to find an older lady soaking up the last of the day's sunlight. "You look very much the part of a young Celtic lady."

Looking down at her attire, Bekka fidgeted at the compliment. She knew the dress was a close representation, with its tight bodice, and long flowing skirt. Though her father may be a pain in the rear at times, he was beyond anal when it came to his work. He'd taken three long days rejecting one dress after another, until he found the one he felt was perfect.

"My Dad's taking pictures for the magazine he works for." Feeling the need to explain herself, Bekka silently wished the woman would stop looking at her so intensely.

Pushing herself up from her seat, the woman made her way slowly over to the old well. "I suppose you know the tale of our well?"

"It's rumored to have the powers to set a person's life on track." Bekka quoted what she'd read from her Dad's notes. They'd been traveling throughout Ireland, and Scotland for the last two months, taking photos of old Wishing Wells for a magazine layout.

"Close." The woman sighed in a thick accent. "It is said that hundreds of years ago there was a young witch by the name of Abbey. It was during a time when war was a part of their everyday life."

"With England." Leaning against the stones of the well, Bekka watched as the woman nodded.

"Aye." The woman smiled softly. "Tired of seeing her family and loved ones die needless deaths she cast a spell on the well."

"Because it was tradition for the men to make a wish after throwing in a favored token. They believed their deity would grant their wish, of course many wished for victory." Looking down into the dark depths of the well, Bekka could barely see the water at the bottom.

"So instead of granting their wishes for victory, her spell put the man back onto the paths of what their hearts desired most."

"Happiness." Bekka smiled sadly. "But that didn't stop the war."

"No." The woman agreed. "But it is said that many were saved from a certain death. Instead of going off to war, they returned to their families and hearth. It's where their happiness was."

"But what if they didn't know what would make them happy?" Peering at the women, who stood silently staring back, Bekka sighed when her father called out.

"Well I better not keep you lass." Nodding to where her Dad held up his camera, the woman moved back to the bench. She paused, then turned back. "The Well would know."

"Know what?" Frowning over at the woman, Bekka felt a chill go up her spine.

"What would truly make you happy."

"Bekka, the light is fading." Frustrated, Bekka turned to him and held up her hand. Turning back around she was startled to find herself alone. "Where did she go?"

* * *

"I can't believe you tossed your Grandmother's necklace down that old hole." Shaking his head, his chest rumbling with laughter, Erik Holt nodded to the Inn keeper before heading up the stairs. "And here I thought you were a skeptic."

"I don't know." With a tired shrug, Bekka let out a yawn as she followed him up. "Sounded like a good idea at the time."

"Either way there were some great shots." Swinging an arm over her shoulder, he pulled her into a hug. "Don't suppose I could talk you into staying on as my assistant full time?" Something in his tone pulled her blue eyes up to meet his, and she knew she was busted.

Freezing for a moment, Bekka dropped her blonde head against his side. "How long have you known?"

Raising a brow at her, he let out a long sigh. "I'm really not as stupid as you think I am."

"I don't think you're stupid." Lifting her head again, she met his grim expression. "And I was just waiting for the right time."

"My daughter drops out of college right before senior year." Shaking his head, he opened the door to his room and motioned her in. "Who do you think they send the tuition bills to?"

Moving to the chair near the window, Bekka dropped down and leaned back. "Does Mom know?"

"Of course she knows." With a laugh, he dropped his equipment into the corner, and went to sit on the side of the bed. "Why else do you think she's been blowing up my phone? I'm sure she's got some wonderful speech written out, on how this is all my fault."

"How would me dropping out of college be your fault?"

"Because I breathe?" He smirked, his eyes sparkling slightly with mischief. "Seriously Rebekka, why didn't you tell me?"

His expression was now stone serious, and Bekka knew it had only been a matter of time before they had this discussion. An entire summer in fact. But three months later and she still didn't have an answer. Staring out the window, she let out a sigh.

"You remember when I was little and hated those itchy sweaters Mom used to make wear?"

"The ones you'd shove into your backpack as soon as you got on the bus?" Leaning forward to rest his arms on his thighs, he gave a curt nod. "Vaguely."

"That's how college felt."

"College felt itchy?"

"Kind of." Looking over to where he was sitting, her large blue eyes begged him to somehow understand. "It just felt wrong. The longer I was there, the worse the itch got, until I couldn't take it anymore and had to take off."

"But I thought you were doing well."

"I am . . . or I guess I should say I was."

"You weren't happy there." His words sounded almost eerie, causing her to jerk her head up. "Don't look so shocked, I can also be insightful, no matter what your Mother thinks. To be honest, I'm a little shocked you made it past freshmen year."

"So you're not disappointed?" Holding her breath for his answer, Bekka braced herself.

"Of course not." His answer came easily. "Bekka all I want is for you to be happy. I honestly don't care if you have a college education. That's your Mom's thing, not mine."

"She's gonna freak."

"She's well past freak and into ubber psycho mode." He corrected her. "But sooner or later she'll get over it."

"You think?"

"I'm positive . . . shouldn't take more than ten years or so." He teased her.

"Thanks." Pushing herself out of the chair, she sent him an impish grin. "So about staying on as your personal assistant?"

"Job's all yours." He gave a nod, before standing up.

"Would you consider a raise?"

"Would you like to discuss the three years of tuition I still owe for my drop out daughter?" A chimed back, his smile growing.

"No, not really." Her reply was quick, as she decided not to push her luck, and hurried toward the door.

"One last thing." Her father's words stopped her seconds from an escape. Turning around slowly, Bekka clasped her hands in front of her. "What did you wish for?"

"What?"

"At the well." Her father clarified.

Frowning, Bekka shrugged. "Nothing." Slipping out before her bewildered father could ask any more questions, moved down the hall to her room.

Closing the door behind, she leaned back and let out a relieved sigh. It felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Eyeing her bed, she moved across the room until she was close enough to land face down into the fluffy comforter. It didn't matter that she was still wearing the ridicules costume from the photo shoot, or that she had some serious decisions to make regarding her life, right now all she wanted to do was fall asleep.

It shouldn't have surprised her that she'd dreamt of the well and the creepy older woman. What she could have done without was the sudden feeling of being pushed from behind, forcing her over the side of the stone wall, falling until she hit the murky water below.

* * *

Looking up at the sky, Bard cursed his bad luck before looking back toward the river bank. He'd known something was in the air that morning before his departure, it had crawled up his spine and settled into the base of his neck, the sensation nearly had him turn back around.

He knew he should've listened to instinct.

Taking a look over to his barge, he was almost tempted to leave this mess to the elves. She was on their land, so basically she was their responsibility. If it wasn't the guilty twinge inside his gut, he would've already taken his cargo and been long gone. Instead, he'd stood there, debating his options. Like he really had any options at all.

What troubled him, more than a lone female in the middle of nowhere, was that he was certain when he'd first arrived he'd been alone. It was habit to scan the area before departing the barge, so it irritated him that he would've missed something so blaringly obvious.

Moving silently through the tree line, Bard found a spot that would keep him well concealed and crouched down. He'd already been taken by surprise once, and he wasn't of the mind to start making it a habit. His eyes flickered to the ledges on the other side of the river, inched down to the rocky terrain, before sweeping to the wide clearing to his left, before settling again on the lone female.

His mouth curved down, as he watched her frantically search the area. What was a human girl, such as she, doing alone on the banks of the Woodlands? Thranduil, Elf-King of the surrounding lands, had little use for humans, and his contempt for what he perceived as an infestation of Middle-Earth was widely known. No, the girl wasn't a stray guest who had lost her way.

Her manner of dress proved she wasn't from any of the nearby poverty stricken villages. As did her creamy complexion, she didn't have the look of having known hard times, which only led him to believe she came from money. Watching as she stumbled over the rocky terrain, his brows pinched together. If that were true, where was her escort? There was no way a female such as she, would be left alone in these forsaken lands. He'd scanned the area, three times now, and there were no other signs that any other persons had been in the area for days, if not weeks.

It was as if the heavens had opened up, and spit her out.

Nearly snorting at himself, Bard shook his head, as he returned his hard gaze back on the girl, and his eyes narrowed as he noticed for the first time the nasty gash on the side of her temple. She had seemed to notice it too, as a trickle of blood moved down the side of her face, causing her to lift her fingers and grimace before stumbling back against a boulder and sitting down heavily.

If he had half a brain he'd slip back down to where the barge was waiting and wash his hands of this mess. No good could come from sticking his nose where it didn't belong. He knew himself, and what the ultimate conclusion of an encounter with the girl would bring. Another belly to fill, until the lost girl was returned safely back to her family.

He could barely provide for his family as it were, he honestly couldn't take on the responsibility of another, even for a short while.

With one last look toward the girl, he pushed back the pang of guilt, before slipping away.


End file.
